Barbed Wire Beauty
by Vertigo2
Summary: Pain is inevitable...vengeance is fun. (Kane/Tori)
1. Proem

I own nothing. Don't sue me for this.

Barbed Wire Beauty

All I ever find myself doing is wondering back to her. My body's pace slowing and heart becoming heavy. It's consuming, just the thought of her. And the wickedness of love. Christ what an evil thing it is. Yes it can be beautiful, of course, and it is if you are in it and euphoric, but oh it's so devastating when it's abused. So life threatening. Like a dream that you have, happy, and then wake up to find that you aren't away from your life.

My life. My brother. Chyna. Sean. Tori. They are all gone and so terrible far from me now. That is where love is not fair. That I loved all of them once and it was beautiful, and that now I have nothing but anger and hatred towards them, a longing for vengeance that will never really happen because nothing can equal what has been done to me. It's not fair the way that as much as I hate them all I still cry over them and don't even know why. Because I'm hurt? Perhaps. And I think of everything that we used to do, all the good times, and only cry like a child…but that is what makes it confusing. Like I said, I hate them all. They've made my life hell. I don't want them back. But I still hurt. Still I cry.

They've ruined everything for me. My slight chance at smiling diminished only because I remember how terrible people really are, remember that I shouldn't trust people like I want to. It wouldn't be a good or smart thing to do. Because of them. And because of me, too. That I can't trust myself on making a good decision.

All I wanted was to be happy. What can I say? It seemed a good idea at the time…maybe it was. I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it.


	2. Fantasies

****

Chapter 2

Decay. I could hear it in her voice.

Of course that was…_after_. After what she did to me. Because when we were together she was nothing less than an angel. A voice that seemed to be laced with gold. And that flowed like a liquid, and sounded sweet. But she ruined herself. That was it. That was the decay. Ruin.

Filth.

I hated her for it. I hated seeing her. The thought of her made my skin crawl, my eyes tear. I wanted to kill her more than anything else. Even that night, after the initial shock set in I just wanted to kill her. I could see it in my head, when I closed my eyes…even when they were open. Just picture her, beautiful, split open before me. Blood would pour. It would be beautiful. Vengeance can be beautiful at times.

I don't know what I would have done had I seen her that night. My emotion…yes it was emotion, hate. And emotion. And hurt. If I had seen her I would've cracked. I know that I would have grabbed her by her pretty blonde hair and looked into her eyes one more time before wrapping my hands around her throat. 

Tori dead. It was pretty to envision. Cold skin…hers against mine. Eyes blank and rolling back in her head…like those dolls that blink. When you position them their eyes can open or close. I want to have that with her. To hold her limp in my arms…quite like a jointless doll in fact.

Hatred is a pure thing. And it can be beautiful at times. My hate fueled these visions. And the visions comforted me. It was a venting thing, actually. Sitting in a dark hotel room, silent, laying on the bed. I could close my eyes and think about how I would kill her. And it was comforting. 

I would've done it one of several ways. Obviously I couldn't kill her more than once. If I was going to I wanted to spend time deciding the perfect, most beautiful way to do it. Perfection was my goal. Perfect vengeance.

Risen from hatred. 

There was the decisions I had to make then…like whether or not I would make a mess or not…ha! Perhaps she was the one that would be making the mess. As she had already make one perhaps I would make one of her. Blood in her pretty hair. I would love to do that.

But then again cleanliness was beautiful as well. I could cradle her and strangle her while whispering poetry to her. It would be wonderful. She would _know_ in her final minutes what she had done. And I would laugh. And laugh and laugh once she was dead.

I would go to her gravesite and laugh later on. Sit on my knees before her name engraved in the marble and trace the letters with my fingers and laugh at that face that she was **dead**. That she was **no more**. It would be…fun.

I wanted to kill her more than anything. Make her suffer. Make tears flow from her eyes. Make her drop to her wretched knees and pray to me with that rotten voice for mercy. Tell me that she was _sorry. SORRY!_ She wasn't sorry and she knew it.

She probably hated me, too. That fucking wretch.


End file.
